'I'm Not There' unlike any biopic you've seen

Wednesday

Nov 28, 2007 at 12:01 AMNov 28, 2007 at 2:39 AM

Film review: Just like his subject, Todd Haynes goes electric with “I’m Not There,” his masterful and imaginative interpretation of the life and times of Bob Dylan. It delivers a buzz like no biopic before it, simply because there’s no other quite like it.

Al Alexander

Just like his subject, Todd Haynes goes electric with “I’m Not There,” his masterful and imaginative interpretation of the life and times of Bob Dylan. It delivers a buzz like no biopic before it, simply because there’s no other quite like it.

You can have your dull, plodding, by-the-numbers junk like “Ray” and “Walk the Line.” Me? I’d rather bask in the utter weirdness of a movie that’s not so much about Dylan, but is Dylan, elusive, enigmatic and brilliant.

To fully enjoy it, though, come equipped with two things: an advanced knowledge of the subject and an open mind. Without both, you’ll either be galled or dumbfounded by all the tricks Haynes employs to trick out a movie that can best be described as a crosspollination of Fellini and Andy Warhol.

Everything about it is interpretative and abstract, right down to Haynes’ decision to use six diverse actors — from Richard Gere to Cate Blanchett — to depict Dylan’s seven personalities: poet, prophet, outlaw, fake, martyr, rock star and born-again Christian. Yet the film’s message that no one really knows Dylan — even himself — is always clear and linear.

It’s also infinitely intriguing, as the man, and the musician, keeps unpredictability and reinvention as his constant companions. And then gleefully sits back and lets those twin obsessions torment fickle fans and sycophants with the same intensity that they torment him.

Caught in the crossfire, unfortunately, is Dylan’s marriage; some might even say his sanity. After all, even his staunchest fans will admit the guy is a little bit nutty. Could that be a lingering effect of the 1966 motorcycle accident that nearly killed him?

Haynes seems to think so, using the crash as a demarcation between the folk singer with the deep thoughts, or as he liked to say “the guy who made finger-pointing music,” and the androgynous, amphetamine-fueled jerk who drove away friends, fans and family by becoming a virtual recluse for nearly 20 years.

Christian Bale, enjoying the best year of his career, represents the former, and Cate Blanchett, who won an Oscar for impersonating Katharine Hepburn and could well win a second for playing another American icon, represents the latter. They form the heart and soul of the movie and garner much of the screen time.

But huge contributions also come via 11-year-old Marcus Carl Franklin, representing Dylan as a fib-telling Woody Guthrie wannabe; Ben Wishaw, portraying the Dylan who became the poet of a generation and the unnerving source of FBI paranoia; and Heath Ledger, handed the unenviable task of representing the singer’s numerous faults.

Even a couple of ill-conceived personas — one by Gere, representing the outlaw inside Dylan, aka Billy the Kid, and another by Bale depicting the Pentecostal preacher — manage to engage on a certain level. As do Charlotte Gainsbourg as Dylan’s neglected wife, Michelle Williams as his fetching mistress, Julianne Moore as a thinly veiled Joan Baez, and Bruce Greenwood as both the inspiration for Dylan’s infamous “Mr. Jones” and as Pat Garrett, the lawman determined to destroy a legend.

Haynes skillfully weaves each into a story that unfolds through a mix of black and white and color images that jump back and forth between the various stages of Dylan’s career, often accompanied by one of his classic tunes, many of them taking on new meaning as you see how they fit into the context of his real life.

The feelings such moments instill are surprisingly moving. And when Haynes cleverly dabbles in metaphor, like Dylan firing machine guns at fans the day he makes the decidedly unpopular decision to go electric at Newport, the film almost feels hallucinogenic.

It’s hard to know what to make of Haynes’ off-beat style initially, but once you fall into his rhythms, his collision of style and substance blends into perfect harmony with what he’s attempting to do. And that’s to present a film that’s almost a mirror of a Dylan song, challenging, raspy and inspirational.

Some might even say spiritual, given how Dylan’s life eerily reflects that of another man who began life as a Jew, adopted Christian beliefs, was belittled and persecuted by the establishment, and possessed the ability to move millions with his messages.

Such comparisons would no doubt anger Dylan, all seven versions of him. And it would probably be for seven very different reasons.

All of the Dylans, though, including the real one, would have to agree “I’m Not There” is a work of genius. Albeit a wondrously communal one that begins with Haynes and trickles down through his actors, writing partner Oren Moverman, and most especially, his director of photography, Ed Lachman.

Like their collaboration on the Oscar-nominated “Far from Heaven,” Haynes and Lachman summon one indelible image after another until you’re rendered breathless by all the beauty working in juxtaposition to the pain, sorrow and regret at the fore.

Of course, the film’s chief lure will be the timeless music (and there is plenty) of a man who saw the times a changin’ and joined The Beatles (seen here in a very funny and clever cameo) in writing the soundtrack for what would become a cultural revolution. And, like John Lennon, it came at a cost. A huge cost that I never fully understood or appreciated until Haynes so eloquently depicted it onscreen.

Now I know, and I doubt I’ll ever forget it. Neither will you. But see for yourself, and don’t think twice, ‘cause it’s all right.

Grade: A-

Rated R. “I’m Not There” contains language and some sexuality and nudity.